


Stars, Hide Your Fires

by aPieceOfPi



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elizabethan Era, Alternate Universe - Shakespeare, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Twelveclara, taming of the shrew, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-06-08 07:05:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6844192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aPieceOfPi/pseuds/aPieceOfPi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires.” - Macbeth, Act I Scene IV</p><p>Oswin works for William Shakespeare’s acting company, The King’s Men, when a man called the Doctor stumbles into one of the lead roles. But this is more than the tale of two actors.As in Elizabethan England there are shadowed secrets abound... just waiting to be illuminated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All the World's a Stage

**Author's Note:**

> The Taming of the Shrew is one of Shakespeare's most controversial plays due to its harsh portrayal and treatment of women. The relationship between the two main characters, Katherina and Petruchio, has been portrayed differently by the many companies that have presented the play. Some see it as abusive on Petruchio's behalf, others as flirtatious, and there are those believe them to have been truly in love. No one knows what Shakespeare's true intentions were.

At his seat in the box at the top of the Globe, the Doctor could see everything.

From the crowd of groundlings in the yard below, pressed up against the stage and piling out the exits, to the royal box directly opposite him – unoccupied as always - the full expanse of the Globe was laid out for his viewing. The best part was, of course, his complete aerial view of the stage allowing him to witness the show that was this afternoon’s performance of _The Taming of the Shrew_.   

Ever since Shakespeare had begun writing, the Doctor had been reading his work. He had a deep admiration for the complex characters and stories, and enjoyed contemplating the issues the Bard brought up. When the works began to be performed, the Doctor had been overjoyed and made it his business to go and see every play. The company, The King’s Men, always produced fantastic stagecraft in the form of colourful sets and heartfelt performances. The highlight of the shows, however, were the actors themselves. 

On this occasion the actor playing the female lead, Katherina, was no exception to this. He was short and feisty, round-faced and rosy-cheeked, and gave the shrew a life and desperation that the Doctor had never seen conveyed before. Clothed in a dress of dark purple, his formal attire contrasted vastly to his long, dishevelled hair - a wig of course - that was knotted and sticking up in odd places, demonstrating the difference between Katherina’s high social standing and her ghastly personality. Dressed thusly, the actor made a very convincing and attractive woman. If he saw him on the street the Doctor might have mistaken them for one, but onstage even the female characters were played by males.

 Petruchio’s actor, the male lead, on the other hand… well, the Doctor thought he was surprisingly substandard. He had heard others rave about this production and the strength of the leading actors, Oswin Oswald and Danny Pink, yet here was a Petruchio with very little energy or intent whenever he delivered his lines. He was currently stumbling through a monologue that the Doctor wished he would deliver faster, knowing from his studies of the script that Katherina was to come on stage once he had completed it. She would liven things up.

“But here she comes, and now, Petruchio, speak.”

Katherina finally came onto stage after that line and the audience’s attention was drawn back to the performance. The murmured conversations in the pit halted and the rest of the audience sat up straighter, their eyes bright with anticipation. Petruchio continued, addressing the other actor.

“Good morrow, Kate, for that’s your name I…” But Petruchio did not finish his sentence, as he slumped forwards off his chair and fell to the ground. When he failed to rise, the audience resumed their murmurings, unsure if this was part of the play or not. After a glance at Katherina’s face, the actor’s eyes wide in shock, the Doctor knew better.

This was neither part of the play, nor was it something added for comedic or dramatic effect.

The Doctor rushed to the back of his box and out down the stairs, his mouth becoming dry as the possibilities of what had happened to the actor ran through his mind. He was heading for the backstage entrance, from which he knew he could enter the stage. It would certainly be faster than pushing through the groundlings in the pit.

Though ‘the Doctor’ was his title, it was one that surfaced through his academic study and he did not have any specific medical background. That being said, it was likely that he would be much more qualified to help the poor man than any of the menial labourers and craftsmen amassed at the foot of the stage, their murmured worries now turned into fearful shouts.

Finally, the Doctor made it onto stage, and rushed towards the actor - Danny - on the floor. He was no longer motionless; he was sitting up, his whole body in spasm with wrenching coughs producing blood from his gaping mouth. The Doctor ran behind him to avoid contact with the blood and grabbed his shoulder to angle him downwards while pounding his back in an attempt to clear his airway.

Danny collapsed back to the ground once more and the Doctor knew his attempts were to no avail. He pressed his fingers to the actor’s neck, searching desperately for a pulse. If he were still alive, perhaps the Doctor would be able to rush him off to one of the healers he knew, but he had still not yet found a pulse and his hope was lessening with every passing moment.

“Can you save him?” A voice next to him asked, somehow managing to be heard over the raging commotion of the crowd. The voice surprised him for it was quiet and delicate, compared to the loud, commanding tone the actor had taken up when playing Katherina. The Doctor slowly removed his hand from the now rigid actor’s neck.

“I’m sorry… he’s gone.”

The actor, Oswin, bit his lower lip. He took in a deep breath, his expression hardened. 

At that moment, William Shakespeare himself decided to grace the stage with his presence, his long brown cloak swooping across the ground in his wake. He raised his hands in the air, calling for silence.

“Ladies and gents! I am terribly sorry for this mishap! The performance cannot continue this afternoon, but please feel free to come back for the performance five days anon - no extra costs will be charged!”

Some people were silent, shocked at the event they had just witnessed. Others were shouting, demanding to know what had happened.  A select few were raging at the injustice of the cancellation, but in lieu of everything, the Doctor found himself unable to care enough about their complaints to pay them any heed. Hopefully, members of The King’s Men would shuffle them out of the theatre before they could harass them any further. The last thing they needed at this moment was to be dealing with angry members of the public.

Oswin turned to William in anger.

“A man has just died, William, you call this a mere ‘ _mishap?_ ’”

“I very much understand the severity of the situation, but the audience doesn’t need to know that. This is theatre, Oswin, and the show never stops. We never stop being players.”

Oswin sobered but the anger never left his eyes. William gestured for them to follow him offstage, away from the evidence of the horrific scene that had just played out.

“Thank you for trying to help, Doctor,” William said when they reached a room backstage. “Danny was a good lad, but had been feeling poorly for days now. The blood sprites must have finally caught up with him.”

The Doctor bowed his head. Oswin fisted the edge of his dress in his hands, eyes like fire, expressing his anger at the situation and how William was failing to properly acknowledge it. William turned to Oswin.

“Oswin, this is the Doctor. Don’t ask me why he’s called that, it’s some academic nonsense. We’ve been friends for eons. Doctor – Oswin.”

The pair eyed each other briefly in greeting.

“The Doctor’s a great fan of all my work; he studies it intensely for some reason! Not sure why anyone would want to do that when you can come and see the plays at any time, but there you go,” William said as he chuckled at himself. The Doctor was less amused. Oswin had been silently fuming throughout William’s exposition and now looked ready to erupt. The Doctor quickly spoke up before he could.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this, Will, but shouldn’t we be discussing more serious matters?”

Oswin looked to him approvingly, yet his body was still tense. William inhaled sharply.

“Egad! You’re right, ‘tis but a smaller business in comparison to the momentous problem we are facing!”

The Doctor relaxed slightly. William was finally showing some sense, albeit in a nonsensical way.

“Who will fill the role of Petruchio?” He continued, “you are absolutely right Doctor. This is a disaster!” He gasped dramatically. “How will we be able to continue the production! No one knows the lines, let alone the staging, the actor relationships…”

William began pacing back and forth, mumbling under his breath, off in a world of his own.

The Doctor could not believe he was taking a fatal matter this trivially, and, by the look of Oswin’s dagger eyes, he felt the same way.

“I think he was actually referring to Danny’s death, Will,” Oswin stated, his tone accusatory. William continued his pacing, clicking his fingers together as if it would help him come up with an idea, seemingly not hearing.

“Could Jack play him? Oh no, he has to tend his pub during performance hours,” William mused, shaking his head.

Oswin turned to the Doctor, his tone biting. “We had better find him a solution to the Petruchio problem or we’ll be here all day.”

The Doctor nodded. He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by William.

“What about Matthew? He would be perfect for the role! I’ll contact him at once -”

“Matthew’s moved back to Stratford, Will,” the Doctor interjected, hands gesturing in the air in exasperation. William’s face fell, and he began running his fingers through his hair.

The Doctor was finally able to turn back to his conversation with Oswin, “You know the actors of London better than I. Can you not think of anyone who could -”

“Doctor!” William announced, cutting him off with a flourish of his hands, “You could play Petruchio!” He sounded as if he had plucked gold from the cobblestones. The Doctor inhaled sharply.

“What! I’m not an actor, I’m just a scholar,” He protested, eyes popping out of his face as his brows ascending towards his hairline, his mouth opened in shock.

“Hum, but those can go hand in hand my friend. You’ve studied the play, and I’m willing to bet you know the lines. Why _shouldn’t_ you play Petruchio?”

For _so many_ reasons, Will, the Doctor thought.

“Surely there are those… better suited to the role than I,” he said instead.

The Doctor still could not believe that they were discussing this. Danny’s body was lying outside on the stage. They should be doing something about _that_ , not debating with Will as to his suitability for an acting role!

“Better suited? This is acting; if you do not ‘suit’ the role then you pretend you do, and off you go! Oswin, what are your thoughts?”

Oswin groaned in frustration, but went on to answer, knowing that this was the only way to shut the man up.

“We don’t have many options, but don’t you think he’s a little…” he lowered his voice, “upper class?”

Shakespeare scoffed, and the Doctor’s eyebrows and mouth lifted into an amused smirk - the fact that Oswin had chosen to bring up _that_ particular argument brought him a great deal of mirth. He had brought up a fair point though. Actors were usually from the middle class. The aristocracy did not work and the groundlings hadn’t the time nor skills to work as actors.

“Hah! I think you’ll find that won’t be an issue. The Doctor is much more, ah, _lenient_ when it comes to social hierarchy than others of his status,” William countered with a smile.

“That being so, you know my views of this play, Will. It’s enjoyable viewing, but Petruchio in particular… it just wouldn’t sit right if I were to play him.”

William let out a lengthy sigh. This had been a point of debate between the two of them ever since he had written the damn play.

“Doctor, I am simply displaying society as I see it! Put your strange moral views and personality aside and you are the perfect man for the job. Please. You would be far superior to any other I could hire.”

The Doctor quickly considered his options, well aware of the fact that they really should be doing something other than discussing new actors.  It would be below his social standard to accept the proposal, yet social norms had never dictated his behaviour in the past and certainly wouldn’t now. William had been a good friend to him, and he was right; apart from the moral strain, the job wouldn’t have any negative effects on him.

He glanced towards Oswin to see if he could read his opinion on the matter, but to no avail. He was fiddling with his wig, looking to be lost in a world of his own.

In the end the Doctor came to his decision, partly just to put a hold on Will’s tongue.

“Fine, I’ll finish off the rest of these performances - but that’s it!” he conceded.

“Excellent! We’ll start rehearsing tomorrow, bright and early. The next performance is in five days so we had better get cracking since we’ve only got a short amount of time to teach you the staging and create some chemistry between you and Oswin.” The Doctor’s eyes met Oswin’s, both of them sceptical. “Well if you’ll excuse me, I have a body to dispose of.” And with that, the great Shakespeare rushed from the room with his usual dramatic flare, back onto the stage to Danny’s body.

The Doctor and Oswin were left alone, shocked at his careless words.

“Judging by the fact that you’re not exasperated by the way he’s behaving after all this, I’d guess you’ve known him a while,” Oswin said, his tone resigned.

“Indeed I have. He’s a strange man, absent minded but a certified genius,” he replied, and this was an apt description considering the Bard’s recent actions. A thin smile graced Oswin’s face, but his eyes were now clouded and withdrawn.

“I know what you mean. Working with him, it’s like being swept up in a whirlwind. He’s constantly yelling directions at you and it’s all you can do just to keep up. When he would take our rehearsals, Danny and I…” he trailed off, forced once more to remember the blood and saliva that caused Danny’s death.

“I look forward to it experiencing that,” the Doctor said softly, acknowledging the weight of death that lingered in the air now that WIlliam had left.

Oswin nodded, looking down to his feet. He attempted to change the topic to something more palatable.

“What you said before, about your views of this play and Petruchio. What did you mean ‘it wouldn’t sit right for you to play him?’”

The Doctor wrung his hands together and sighed in exasperation.

“William and I have some disagreements as to the motives of certain characters. He’s the writer of course, but a fictitious text can be interpreted in any way regardless of the author’s contention.” The Doctor straightened and licked his lips, his jaw set.

Oswin nodded slowly, his eyes glazed in contemplation. The Doctor wondered if, playing Katherina, he was aware of the issues to which he was referring. Or perhaps he was simply considering the day’s disastrous events.

“That makes sense,” he replied eventually, “It was good to meet you but I’ll be going now. Someone should go visit Danny’s family…” He trailed off, and the Doctor could tell that Danny’s death was affecting him more than he had been showing. It was clearer now in the way he held himself - shoulders sagging slightly and head down - and in his lethargic speech, than it had been previously when his anger and then William’s flamboyance had overshadowed the grief.

“Adieu, Doctor,” Oswin finally said before exiting the room.

“Adieu, Oswin.”

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, after many a discussion with William about how he should go about playing Petruchio, the Doctor found himself wandering through the back streets of London on his way home. 

It was quite late at night - Will had a liking to frequent the pub and on this case had dragged him along - and the Doctor had thought he would take a more scenic route home. He enjoyed walking without purpose, taking the time to order his thoughts that were very jumbled after the day of emotional undulation. He was passing down a street that he couldn’t remember entering before, when he heard a soft voice.

“That’s right Courtney, keep going,” said the voice.

This was followed by another, younger voice speaking in reply. The Doctor moved closer to the building the voices were coming from - a small, decrepit house, with the wooden roof in varying states of decay and the window frames sagging. The original voice continued and the Doctor felt a niggling sensation at the back of his mind; this voice was familiar to him.

He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying except for a few choice words, and yet the Doctor was sure he recognised the first voice. He approached the window and peeked inside. Neither his view of the back of a short woman that the light of the moon was falling upon, nor the silhouettes of many smaller people, probably children, surrounding her succeeded to satisfy his curiosity. Perhaps the woman was looking after the children, yet the Doctor didn’t know anyone who partook in such activities - especially not in a rundown house like this one.

Unable to work out who the woman was, the Doctor was about to turn to continue on his way. He should be getting home to bed to ensure he was ready for rehearsals with Oswin, he thought.

The Doctor stopped mid-turn. Oswin. The voice reminded him of Oswin’s.

But how could that be? The Doctor turned back towards the window and surveyed the scene once again. The adult was wearing a plain frock - lower-class but most certainly feminine. When he listened closely her voice carried the same intonation as Oswin’s but it was higher in pitch. Perhaps she was a sister? A cousin? Or perhaps the Doctor was imagining the whole thing. After all, it was rather late at night.

The Doctor turned away for the second time, and shaking his head in bewilderment at the antics of his imagination he continued walking down the street.

If he had heard the abrupt, feminine gasp that emerged from inside the house as the occupiers ran to the window to observe his departure, the Doctor showed no sign.


	2. Make Yourselves Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.” - Hamlet, Act III Scene I

Clara Oswald lay in her cold, hard bed, unable to sleep.

This was not a surprise of course; one of her friends had just died and she was going to be forced back into  _ Shrew  _ rehearsals tomorrow with a man she had only just met, for a full performance in but five days time.

On top of this, said man may or may not have worked out that she was a female. A female actor.

Clara sighed as her eyes stared, unseeing, at the wooden framework above her. She was instead focused on the constant stream of thoughts that would not leave her to sleep.

Lying to people didn’t bother Clara anymore. This was a secret that she had kept for half her life. Pretending to be a boy in order to survive in this harsh society, and pursuing her career as an actor? It was now as natural to her as breathing. Even her false name, Oswin, was no longer something that she took time to respond to. Her whole identity could change in a second. That was how easily she fell into playing her practised role. 

Yet, it was not her. 

Oswin, no matter how many people knew her as that, was not Clara. It was a dangerous secret, and she took no pleasure in further weaving the web of lies on a daily basis. If someone found out about her not only would she be hanged, but the group of children she supported and taught would have no one. If the Doctor found out about her… it was enough to have her tossing and turning beneath her threadbare sheets.

Physically, the Doctor was a fine man - tall, with a rough beard, fluffy curls, and piercing eyes. He held himself with dignity, and was the only one to rush to Danny’s aid earlier that day. These traits were indicative of a good man, yet Clara was hesitant to trust him. From his silk clothes and his lilting manner of speech, his seat at the top of the Globe and his strange title, one thing was clear: the Doctor was part of a rich family. Despite William’s insistence that he was ‘lenient’ with matters of social norms, this made Clara wary of him. 

Those of higher class, especially men, were generally trouble. An upper class man who knew she was a female? Definitely trouble.

Clara couldn’t believe the Doctor had just  _ happened _ to walk down the street on which she was teaching the children. No one of importance ever came to that part of London, especially not in the middle of the night. As to whether or not the Doctor recognised her… that, she could not say. She had not been aware of his presence until he was standing outside the window. Even once she realised, Clara had continued teaching the children, not wishing to indicate that she knew someone was there. At this point, the person was simply a ‘someone’ as Clara had not identified who he was. Once he started walking away Clara had turned and, spying his shining mass of curls, gasped. She had rushed to the window and what she saw confirmed her suspicions; it was the Doctor. 

After such a close encounter, one that she found too strange to be a coincidence, she was hesitant to be working so closely with him tomorrow. It also didn’t help her ability to sleep.

Clara rolled over, bringing her thin blanket tighter around her. It was going to be a long night; tomorrow an even longer day.

 

* * *

 

“Again!” came William’s booming voice, cutting into their rehearsal.

Clara exhaled slowly.

“Really? We’ve done this scene so many times already!” she protested, disentangling herself from the Doctor’s arms. He was sitting on a chair and had pulled her onto his lap in a tight hold. She had been fiercely struggling against him, Katherina trying to escape from the persistent Petruchio. She stood up and straightened her dress.

William addressed her. “You’ve done the scene but the Doctor hasn’t. Again I say!”

Knowing that there was no arguing with William, Clara moved across the stage and back to her place at the beginning of the sequence. The Doctor commenced the scene.

“Good morrow, Kate, for that’s your -”

“No! No no  _ no _ !” William interrupted, striding towards them from his position at the back of the pit, shaking his head vigorously. “You’re too polite Doctor, too polite! You need to flare her temper, gain her interest! She doesn’t care for your politeness!”

“There’s only so much I can do with one line of greeting, Will,” the Doctor said in an exasperated tone. It seemed to Clara as if he were used to debating with William as to the interpretation of his work, but that debating with William when he was the one to  _ play _ the character was a different story.

“Of course you can do things with that line! Here, allow me to demonstrate.” At this, William jumped up onto the stage and claimed the chair that the Doctor was sitting on, pushing him aside in the process. The Doctor huffed, stomping towards the side of the stage to give Will room to show how  _ he _ thought it should be done.

“Good morrow, Kate,” William said slowly with his back facing Clara and his legs crossed, “For that’s your name I hear.” At this line William swung his leg through the air to the other side of the chair, coming to rest with his hands moving to his hips. He delivered the line in a most suggestive manner; which was commendable, considering the simplicity of the sentence. Eyebrows raised, he was intensely staring at Clara.

“Well have you heard, but something  _ hard _ of hearing!” Clara responded instantly, jumping straight back into character and establishing herself to the audience. “They call me Katherine, those that do speak of me.”

William sprung from his chair, pointing his finger at Clara. 

“You lie in faith!” he announced, before breaking character and looking to the Doctor. 

“See Doctor?  _ That _ is how you play this scene,” and with that, William leaped off the stage, spinning in midair to land facing the actors. He gestured for the eye-rolling pair to proceed. 

The Doctor and Clara went on to rehearse under William’s scrutiny. It was a simple comedic scene upon the surface, with Katherina and Petruchio firing insults off one another. Upon closer examination however, there were darker layers to it. Petruchio was essentially forcing Katherina to marry him, regardless of her will, and either dismissing her words or turning them against her. While this behaviour from a man was viewed as acceptable in today’s society, Clara loathed the way Petruchio treated his future wife.

Unfortunately, despite her own opinions, Clara had to perform the scene to William’s liking. She did, however, always make sure to add her own interpretation in, putting herself in the place of Katherina and reacting with the disgust she would display to Petruchio in her situation. This technique had worked fine when performing with Danny, and they had really been able to create a spark between them that William approved of. But it wasn’t working with the Doctor.

Perhaps it was due to her hesitation at being around him and his hesitation about playing Petruchio or perhaps it was due to yesterday’s trauma. However, as the scene progressed, they weren’t able to act together at a high level. Being the two leads, they were supposed to support and boost each other’s performances, yet this was not happening. They weren’t  _ connecting _ on a deep enough level. Clara thought they were doing a reasonable job of playing the scene, but it wasn’t anywhere close to spectacular. 

This was, of course, something that William picked up on.

“All right!” he announced at the conclusion of the scene. “You two clearly need to work on your chemistry. You aren’t Oswin and the Doctor, you’re Katherina and Petruchio! Show the audience that!”

William turned and raised his arms, gesturing to the expanse of seats that would be filled by the audience in but four days time. The Doctor moved back to the chair in preparation to begin the scene again, but William halted him.

“Doctor, we haven’t the time to go over that scene yet again! The rest of the cast have places to be!”

William raised his voice, “All actors on stage for Act Three! We’re moving on to Act Three!” 

The Doctor turned to Clara, raising his eyebrows in a skeptical look which she returned. William had been the one who insisted they rehearse the scene so many times in the first place. Together, they headed to stage left the exited through the stage door. 

 

 

* * *

 

The day’s rehearsals were almost over. They were up to the final scene and Clara was currently centre stage delivering a lengthy monologue, after which there would only be a few lines remaining until the end. 

Clara hated the monologue. It essentially detailed how women should always be submissive to their husbands and be forever grateful to them for agreeing to marry such frail beings who would have no place in the world if they weren’t married. How Clara wished she could douse her words in sarcasm.

Alas, William’s views on how she should perform the monologue were different to her’s, and William’s views were  _ always _ the ‘right’ ones. 

Clara finished the sorry speech, and the Doctor walked up to her. 

“Why, there’s a wench!” He exclaimed, and Clara cringed internally at the Doctor having to say such a phrase. She had known him for just over twenty-four hours and could already tell it was a phrase he would never dream of speaking under normal circumstances. 

The Doctor wrapped his arm around her waist. “Come on and kiss me, Kate.”

Clara leaned forward in obedience and kissed the doctor, quick and dutiful. Another actor was about to begin speaking when - to nobody’s surprise at this point - William interrupted them.

“Oswin! Doctor! What was that? This is the final interaction between the two of you in the play - make it  _ mean  _ something! I am expecting much better kisses from the both of you. Off you go!”

Clara and the Doctor’s eyes met, the Doctor looking as if he were unfazed by the situation, his shoulders loose. Clara attempted to mimic his expression. It was just acting of course. They were simply doing as William told them.

Stepping back into Katherina’s shoes, Clara grasped the Doctor around the neck and forcefully pushed her lips to his in a way that demonstrated to the audience that while she may be tamed, Katherina was far from a placid wife. At least Clara hoped that was what it looked like. The Doctor responded with the vigour of Petruchio, his arms immediately pulling her close and his lips ravishing hers. His beard scratched against her mouth as his lips moved against hers, sending sparks of energy from each point of contact, but before she could think too much about that the Doctor pulled away, grabbing her arm in the process.

“Come, Kate, we’ll to bed,” he announced, “we three are married, but you two are sped,” and with that the Doctor marched Clara offstage to mark the end of their performance. 

Once there, Clara broke character and exhaled, her face flushed and her blood pumping. Beside her the Doctor was running his hand through his hair, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. The stood like that for a moment, neither quite sure of what to say, until William’s voice boomed out from the pit.

“Doctor! Oswin! Come back out here!”

The final lines of the play had been delivered and it was time for them to return to stage to face whatever ‘constructive’ criticism William had for them. The Doctor and Clara proceeded back onto stage and were greeted by William’s surprisingly plaintive expression, his eyes looking at them in contemplation. 

“Well, that was quite something. As far as  _ that _ part of the play goes, you’ve got it down pat.”   
  
The Doctor turned to Clara, and met her eyes with relief. They had finally managed to do something that hadn’t resulted in a stream of dramatised criticism from Will. Clara knew it was theatre, but honestly, did William really need to talk to them as if he were always in front of an audience?  _ He _ should have been the one to fill in for Petruchio, she thought ruefully.

William spoke again. “Well, cast, you’ve worked hard today. Leave this place and be merry, we shall be back here at the same time tomorrow!” The other actors began to make their way offstage and Clara was turning to do the same when William stopped her.

“Owsin! You and the Doctor have to continue to practise your duo scenes on your own. I simply cannot have anything but perfection coming from this theatre company. I don’t care what you do, but I want to see some real magnetism between the two of you by tomorrow. Yes?” 

The Doctor and Clara nodded mutely. This was often the case around William. He always seemed to drain the words from those around him and rearrange them to form his own perfect sentences. 

“Good,” William continued, “Then I shall see you tomorrow. Bon voyage!” William swept around and walked out the front of the Globe, leaving silence behind him. The wooden stalls creaked in the wind as the two actors wondered what to make of the sudden departure.

“Bon voyage?” Clara asked, one eyebrow raised.

“It’s a french phrase, used to wish someone a good journey.” 

“Then why did he -”

“This is William Shakespeare we’re talking about. Why does he do anything?” 

“Why indeed.” Clara laughed, granting the Doctor a small smile.

“Well, Oswin, it seems as if William shall not rest until we up our ‘chemistry’ levels.” He waggled his bushy brows whilst rolling his eyes in exasperation. “So may I suggest that we return to my abode for some tea? Perhaps get to know each other a little bit, suss what make each other’s acting tick, and then go over some of our scenes?”

Clara hesitated, unwilling to immediately agree to spend time alone with the Doctor in his own house considering her doubts about him. But the Doctor’s eyes were warm and inviting, and so instead of politely declining, or suggesting they simply remain where they were to rehearse, she took a deep breath, looked him in these piercing eyes and said, “That sounds lovely.” 

  
She hoped she hasn’t made a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Jo and Esther for betaing!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Jo and Esther for being fantastic betas and helping me navigate through pronoun hell!


End file.
